So they’re filming the next cinematic installment of “Sex and the City” this fall. Can’t say I’m too excited. Yes, I adore Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) and her three New York glamazons—and of course I’ll make a trip to the theater to see the movie—but it’s just not the same when three of the four main characters are married. Unfortunately, I don’t have any alternatives. Those of us who long to view candid, funny, and occasionally poignant depictions of female single life have been sorely disappointed by what’s come after the “SATC” TV show.

In the five years since the series ended, its fans—women who love their shoes as much as professional advancement and who believe female empowerment includes sexual freedom—have had to endure such inferior tripe as “Lipstick Jungle” and “Cashmere Mafia,” neither of which really made it past one season. I wonder what made the shows fail more: the lack of chemistry among its female leads or the PG rating its writers had to abide by. Bill Cosby might disagree, but trying to honestly convey the messy, complicated but thrilling lives of single women without swear words or sex scenes just isn’t possible.

I turned on “My Boys” once, which has its core a strong female character surrounded by guys—hence the title—but I was turned off by the lanky Jordana Spiro. She doesn’t have the stellar fashion sense, introspective musings and “everywoman” appeal of SJP, who has been charming audiences since her days on “Square Pegs.” (Spiro also has an oddly gruff voice that makes her sound like one of the boys too.)

I regularly tuned into “Desperate Housewives” in its first season but eventually grew bored of the domestic struggles and family life. This is “Sex and the City” after the honeymoon; it’s the kind of existence you picture Laney Berlin (Dana Wheeler-Nicholson) from “The Baby Shower” episode leading in the well-to-do suburbs of Connecticut. I’d rather, as Samantha (Kim Cattrall) does in that episode, throw an “I don’t have a baby” shower party. Another flaw on Wisteria Lane? “Desperate Housewives,” which spawned an annoying reel of reality show knockoffs, lacks the heart that elevates “SATC” above other she-centric television fare.

If I were a decade younger, “Gossip Girl” could be considered a contender with its fashion-forward focus and bed-hopping socialites, but like Samantha being alarmed by 13-year-old Jenny Brier and her over-sexed friends in “Hot Child in the City,” I’m a bit taken aback by adolescent sex addicts on basic television. “Gossip Girl” is aimed at the tween and teen set, and although the actors are undoubtedly older than the characters they are playing, I have no desire to engage in this kind of voyeurism. Plus, all the backstabbing is unattractive. I’ve already lived through “Beverly Hills, 90210”—the original—and still haven’t recovered from the betrayal of Kelly (Jennie Garth) seducing best friend Brenda’s (Shannen Doherty) boyfriend, Dylan (Luke Perry).

On the occasions that I tuned into “Girlfriends,” which centered on four African-American women in Los Angeles, I found the show to be tolerable, even amusing sometimes, but it’s more parody than dramedy. There may be some stereotyping on “SATC,” but Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte (Kristin Davis) and Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) are not caricatures. Ever.

Despite the multitude of storylines involving sex, love and relationships, “SATC” is not a soap opera. Carrie and her gal pals may be seeking many of the same things—well, actually, Samantha is only ever on the lookout for her Next Good Time—but they’re not stepping over each other in their high-heeled Jimmy Choos to achieve them. They’re the best of friends. And that’s what I feel like I’ve lost: a best friend.